The Call
by Lucky Kutsick
Summary: First Fanfic! I'm nervous kinda nervous about posting, but I have nothing to lose. Tag to "Penelope Papers" 9x3. Just my idea of what Tim's phone call was like at the end of the episode. I hope it's okay.


_Hi! I'm kinda new to the whole fan-fiction thing, and this is my first piece. I would really appreciate feedback on how I did. All I ask is that reviews are kept constructive. Constructive criticism helps me become a better writer. Thanks!_

_Disclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, included characters listed in the story below._

_P.S. (I don't have a beta-reader, so any mistakes are my own)  
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Tim smiled as Penny walked away arm and arm with Ducky. Though she would never admit it, she had been lonely for a long time after his grandfather had passed away many years ago. He was glad she had the chance to meet someone like Ducky. Someone who would be there to talk and to laugh with, but someone who wasn't pressing for a relationship. But just as the doors of the elevator slid shut, the smile slid from his lips. He turned and frowned at his desk.

7 years

Could he really do it? What would he say? What could he say? Could he do it, after so many years of unspoken fear, anger, and disappointment? But Penny was right. He had to –needed to – do this. Quickly he sat down at his desk and reached for the phone.

7 years

He hesitated, his hand cradling the phone. Maybe he should wait till the weekend. Or maybe when it wasn't so late at night. No, he had to do this now, before he lost his nerve. He picked up the receiver. Again he paused, but only for a fraction of a second, the weight resting encouragingly in his palm. With a small lick of his lips Tim dialed the memorized number: memorized just in case. In case of what, he couldn't even have told himself.

Fist ring

Will he answer?

Second ring

Will he even want to talk?

Third ring

Am I doing the right thing?

Tim almost hung up. He couldn't do this, who was he kidding. But the, just as he was about to lose his nerve, he heard a soft click.

"McGee," a strong, deep voice said curtly across the line.

"Dad?" Tim's voice shook ever so slightly. "Hi. It's me. Tim." He stopped. Was that it? Was that all he could say?

"Tim?" For all the gruffness in the voice, the surprise could not be hidden.

7 years

That was a long time, so much had happened, so much to talk about, yet neither man could speak. The silence stretched out longer and longer. Tim opened and closed his mouth several times, searching desperately for the words.

"Why did you call?" McGee asked. Tim sighed. Yeah, that was his dad. Blunt.

"I," Tim hesitated, but he swallowed it, knowing his dad wouldn't react well to his pausing. "I'm not really sure, Sir. I saw Penny today." Why had he mentioned her, he asked himself. Why not? As good way as any to open a conversation.

McGee grunted. "Good old, stubborn Penny. How is she?"

"She's fine. Stubborn as ever."

"Where did you see her?" Tim could tell his father was struggling to keep up conversation. What did you say to someone when you last encounter with them ended in anger and disappointment?

Tim sighed. He remembered from where that anger had stemmed, and he knew if he answered, that conversation was going to come up a lot sooner than the agent had hoped. Should he lie? No, his father would see right through it. "She was involved in a case I was working on."

There was another long silence. "So you're still at NCIS?" McGee asked, his voice void of emotion.

"Yes Sir." Tim swallowed, hard. Why had he decided to do this? Damn it, Penny, putting this stupid, half though plan in his head. "I've been here for about 8 years now."

"I remember," was the abrupt reply.

Tim had to hold back a snort. "Really? Last time we spoke of my work you made it very clear you didn't care if you never heard of the agency again." Immediately he bit his tongue. That came out a bit too sarcastically.

He heard a noncommittal grunt. "You know my opinion on NAVY employed civilians."

Tim felt a heat rising from underneath his caller. Even after all this time it took less than five minutes for his father to twist his emotions. "Well, that's not why I'm calling, Dad," he said calmly.

"Well then, Son, why *did* you call?" McGee asked. Again, blunt. Tim found he couldn't speak. Why was this so hard? "Speak up, boy! Why did you call? To apologize?"

The heat under his collar surged to flush his entire body. "Apologize?" Tim asked incredulously. "What in the world do I have to apologize for?"

"How about the fact that you turned your back on any chance you had with the military to be a government lackey?"

Tim sighed. Same old argument. Nothing had changed. "You and I both know I could never be in the Navy. And I don't need to apologize for that, Sir. I don't think I have any reason to apologize for my career."

"Then how about you apologize for the fact that because of that precious agency of yours, I haven't heard from my son in seven years?" The anger was now beginning to creep into the retired man's voice.

There it was. Out in the open.

7 years

Tim bit back a sharp retort. Even though there was no one to see him, Tim hung his head. Not in defeat, not in shame: in weariness. "Dad, I think that's it," Tim said softly, but with a bit of force. "That's why I'm calling. Seven years I haven't talk to you. Hiding, from what I don't know, but that's over. I think it's time to man up, face what I've been so afraid of." He took a deep breath. He continued, stronger and more confident. "I know I'm not the son you wanted, I know that. I also see that I can never be the man you want me to become. I don't know if you will ever come to terms with my life and the direction I chose, but I want you to at least know what's going on. No longer can I cut you out of my life just because I can't handle a judgmental eye. Even if you don't always approve, I at least want you to know who I am and what I've done. As your son, that is all I can offer you." Tim swallowed. He had nothing else to say. He really didn't care if his father approved, but he still wanted some part of him to be a good son. He breathed slowly and steadily, waiting for something, anything, from the other end of the line. "Dad…"

"No stutter."

Tim frowned. "Sir?"

McGee sighed. "Tim, that's the first time since you were a young child that you've spoken to me without a single stutter."

Tim blinked in confusion. "I haven't stuttered in years."

A faint cough told him how uncomfortable his father was. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you, Son?" After an uncomfortable pause, the older man continued. "Tim, you might not have stuttered in years, but I haven't heard your voice in those years. I missed that change: I missed the moment the stutter left, and the confidence set in." Another cough. "Makes me wonder what other changes I missed."

Tim's eyebrows rose. Confidence? Suddenly it clicked. His father – stiff military, no emotion – was trying to tell him something, in a very roundabout way. His father saw the absence of the stutter as proof he was no longer the geeky teen who got seasick and was picked on, but a trained Agent and a man.

Tim smiled. "Well, Sir, I can't tell you what changed, but I can tell you what happened to make those changes."

"I'd be glad to hear it."

Tim closed his eyes and sighed, the corners of his mouth curled peacefully. A lot had happen in seven years. "Where do you want to start, Dad?"


End file.
